Chapter 31
Alma
The bright lights make it easy to ignore the audience. I’ve always kept my focus on the performance, never letting my gaze wander past the stage, but it’s different now that I know Efren is watching.
Excitement courses through my skin. My every movement is fueled by thoughts of his submission to me. His obedience is the worship my body craves. And I want to be his to worship.
He stands at the back of the bar, where Claudi attempts conversation, but Efren doesn’t respond. We’re both pulled into the comfort of a world we’ve created, where only we exist.
Our eyes lock as I crawl toward him across the stage. A fever builds under my skin, and the fantasies that circle in my mind fuel my performance. Money flies to the stage, and the crowd cheers, but my eyes don’t leave his.
I crawl to the lip of the stage where the lights burn hottest, and the crowd reaches for me. I curl my body, arching my back, as I slide forward and grind my pussy onto the stage. Lifting myself back up, I turn and work the pole until the music dies and the lights fade.
Making my way back to the dressing room, I try to shake off the post performance adrenaline, but my body is still wound up.
Alma
Meet me in El Confessionario.
The message barely leaves my phone before the door opens. The other girls are laughing, wiping down their bodies, and counting cash, but my pulse drowns everything out. I touch my lips and taste the sweat and lipstick still clinging there.
Tonight’s outfit of choice is an orange velvet bikini top with matching fishnet tights.
The boots are black and hit just above my knees.
For the first time, I’m not wearing a wig, so my curls are on full display.
My reflection stares back at me, wild-eyed and flushed.
But beneath the surface, I can feel my anticipation.
I make my way to El Confessionario. The same room where he’d shot and killed Curtis. Where he’d claimed my throat ruthlessly.
“Hey, Kitten,” Efren greets me from the red velvet sofa.
Above him, a neon green cross flickers between two symmetrical steel rings mounted to the wall. He’s in a pair of gray sweat pants and a matching hoodie—a more casual look for him, but he wears it well. In fact, he wears it too well.
“Who told you that you could go out dressed like such a slut?” I ask.
“A slut?” he repeats, half a laugh in his throat.
It dies when he sees my hardening expression. He knows the feral part of me has taken over. He licks his lips and nods. Then slowly, he rises from the sofa.
His hands grip the hem of his hoodie, dragging it over his head in one clean motion. The muscles in his stomach tighten as the fabric lifts, giving me a glimpse of ink covering his tan skin. His hoodie lands on the floor with a soft thud. His eyes stay on me as he peels off his T-shirt next.
I resist the urge to do it myself, and yet I never want this to end. His body is a masterpiece, every muscle on full display. His shoulders flex with the movement, veins shifting beneath his skin. His shirt joins his hoodie, and I catch the faint smell of his body wash.
“Better?” he asks.
“Keep going,” I urge.
His mouth curves, just slightly. He drags the drawstring from his sweats, pulling it loose with a snap that echoes in the silence. His waistband dips just enough to make my breath catch.
I lift my hand. “Slowly.”
He slides the fabric down, his movements unhurried and deliberate.
The power between us tilts. It’s not about control but who dares to hold on to it longer.
By the time he steps out of his sweats and briefs, the room feels thick with heat.
I might get lost in the beauty of him. I’ve never been fond of penises, Lord knows I’ve seen my fair share of them in this industry, but his is something else. The veins. The piercings. Mine.
Opening the top drawer of the end table next to the sofa, I retrieve the handcuffs inside.
“Sit, hands up,” I command, pushing him back against the cushions.
He lets me guide him, wrists lifted, the steel clinking as I hook them through the rings on the wall. His chest rises with anticipation.
“I think I need to remind you,” I whisper, my mouth close to his ear, “who you belong to.”
My hand comes down on his erection, slapping it hard as he hisses in pain. I run my hands up the length of him, stroking gently.
“You just can’t put all this on display in those slutty sweats.” I slap his cock again, harder this time. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, Kitten,” he hisses.
“I’m gonna torture you until your balls are about to explode.” I spit on his cock then lick lightly over the piercings, enough to tease but not enough to truly give him the pleasure he’s wanting. “I’m going to torture you until I know for sure you can be a good boy.”
The words intensify the pulse between my legs. I stand and step back, my eyes glued to the veins protruding from his cock. It’s mine.
My. Fucking. Cock.
“I can’t always give you what you want, Papi,” I coo as I undo the back of my orange bikini top. “You have to earn it.”
Slowly, I drag my middle finger around my areola and watch as his eyes flicker.
I bring my middle and ring fingers to my mouth and lick them before rubbing them around my other nipple.
The brown peaks harden under the weight of his stare.
I slide my fingers down and rub my pussy through the clothing.
“My pussy is so wet for you.” I moan.
I take my time removing every article of clothing until I’m standing naked before him. Primal satisfaction rumbles deep in my belly at the sight of his cock standing hard for me. Warmth floods through my body, and I tend to the aching in my core, sliding two fingers inside.
“Mmmm.” I moan, and Efren tugs against his restraints.
I pull my fingers out and bring them up, my arousal glistening under the room’s neon lights. Pushing them into my mouth, I suck on my own arousal.
“Fuck,” Efren says, a small whimper catching in his throat.
“You want some?” I circle my clit and watch him come undone.
“Undo my handcuffs right now.” he growls.
I walk forward and slap him across the face.
“Ask nicely.”
His head turns back, and the masochist gleam shines through his eyes.
“Please uncuff me so I can fuck that wet pussy,” he pleads.
I slide my fingers back inside myself. The sound of my wet pussy pulls him in as I pump my fingers in and out.
“I wish this was your cock. Filling me. Don’t you want to fill me with your cum?” I moan.
I’m touching myself in all the right places, and while it feels good, it’s not nearly enough for what I want.
I’m edging us both, but it’s a losing game for me as the thoughts of him pull me closer to the edge.
I close my eyes and pump faster, thinking of all the ways I want to break him down. To make him beg.
“Oh god, I’m so close!” I cry.
The chains from the metal hooks rattle, and a low guttural growl sounds from Efren’s throat.
“Alma, please. Uncuff me,” he begs.
My body’s on the edge, but I stop myself. There’s madness in his eyes, but there’s also a plea.
“Bark,” I command. “Bark like a dog.”
He smiles once. It’s manic but sexy. Then he lets out a bark.
Then another. And God this man is breaking me.
Every time I think I have control, it turns out he has more.
I can’t not touch him. His body is hot and slick with sweat from his attempts to break free.
Straddling him, I pull his head back until his eyes are looking up at me.
“Such a good boy.” I lower down onto him. His hard cock filling me as I cry out. “Fuck, Efren.”
He feels like the first time, every time. I grind on top of him. The friction of him stretching me makes my hips roll farther. He moves his mouth to my breast, sucking in my nipple and biting down gently. My pussy clenches, and I need more. I want more.
“God.” I moan. “I want you to fuck me, Efren. I want you to fuck me hard.”
“Remove the restraints, darling, and I’ll fuck every hole in your body until you’re crying.”
I want us to lose control and our bodies to indulge in the depravity of our desires. I stare down at where we’re joined and watch myself rise up and lower down on him. My hands thread back into his hair, and I pull harder. The heat in my body rises, and I slam back down onto him.
My cock.
My man.
I ride him, my body getting lost in the moment. My hand lowers to his neck, and I squeeze it tight as my pussy clamps around him. My head falls back, and I cry out his name.
“Efren… yesss… yes… Efren.”
Warm liquid spills out as my orgasm floods through me. My body convulses, and my limbs loosen as I fall forward. I undo the handcuffs with the last of my strength and look back to Efren.
There’s madness in his eyes as he stares into mine, but there’s no sign of his own relief. He lifts me effortlessly and turns me around, his dick still hard when it hits my ass. His breath is hot in my ear, and his voice is low.
“My turn.”
My turn?
My body is pushed forward before I can react.
“Efren!” I cry, looking up from the floor to where he towers over me.
“I told you, Kitten, you can have your fun first, but then it’s Daddy’s turn.”
“I don’t think I can cum anymore,” I stammer.
“Oh, you can and you will.”
I can see the challenge in his eyes and remember how much I wanted him to take me when we were in Los Angeles. Efren kneels and reaches for my foot. Slowly, he drags me across the floor to him.
“I don’t think that was good enough, Alma. I think your body wants more.”
He throws my legs over his shoulders and dives down, his mouth hot against me as he licks up my arousal.
My hands grasp at his hair, my body fighting the growing sensation, but there’s no fighting this madness between us.
He devours me. The metal barbel piercing on his tongue presses down on my sensitive nub.
My fingers loosen their grip, and my legs begin to shake.
Stars erupt across my vision, and my release crashes through me.
“Two,” Efren counts.
I look through my fluttering lashes at the mania in his eyes. God this man is mad. There’s no way I can cum again, but my protest dies in my throat as he lifts me to the sofa. He moves my hands to the metal rings where I’d cuffed him.
“Hold on, darling.”
My grasp tightens when I feel the tip of him at my back hole.
“No. Efren, I’m not—”
“Shhhh. Don’t worry. I’m gonna lube you up.”
I hear him fumble through the drawers as the anticipation rises in me. Cold fingers slide through my cheeks and over my back hole. I tense and cry out when I feel his finger enter me.
“Relax. Let me show you how good this feels.”
“Efren,” I moan, my voice reflecting the weariness in my body.
“Say it again,” he commands, slowly pushing his lubed finger into my back hole.
“Efren.”
“I’m claiming this ass, Alma. The same way I claimed your mouth in this room.”
My breath flees from me, my body succumbing to the delicious way he fucks me with his finger.
“That’s it, Almita, let go.”
And I do. I surrender the need to control, giving it to him.
“God, it feels so good,” I confess.
“Hold on tight, Kitten.”
I clench at his absence, and then I feel the tip of him at my entrance and suck in a breath. Pain courses through my body, but the pleasure mixed in is incomparable.
There is so much chaos around us, and yet this is where we control it. Pushing and challenging one another to experience the pain and morphing it into something devastatingly beautiful.
My knuckles turn white as I hold on to the metal rings.
Slowly, I feel him slide inside. Tears pool in my eyes as he pushes deeper.
The pain is there, but there’s also this out of body surrenderance as I let him take from me.
Every thrust is a merging between us. A carnal contract that we belong only to each other.
We are for each other. Tears flood my eyes, but not from the pain that’s slowly beginning to subside. I’m realizing how much he means to me. It’s the fear that he could be ripped from me the same way everything else I love has been.
I arch my back and embrace the third wave that stirs in my belly.
When I cum again, it’s more intense and powerful than anything I can imagine.
I grind into him as I ride out the wave, letting myself cry out.
Letting myself feel everything that comes with loving him.
Even if I don’t have the words to express it, I let my body feel it.
Releasing my grasp, I fall back into him. He embraces me tightly as he empties himself inside of me. He holds me in his arms, my body sore and spent. He doesn’t move right away. His breath is warm against the back of my neck, his arms wrapped tight around me.
There’s no rush to fill the silence. I swallow back the lump in my throat, but the tears don’t stop falling. After a moment, he presses a kiss to my shoulder and whispers, “Why are you crying, darling?”
I almost tell him I don’t know, but I do. It’s everything. The way he touches me like I’m something fragile and still chooses to hold on. How I keep waiting for everything good to be taken from me the way it always has been.
“I just—” My voice catches. “I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose you.”
He turns me gently, thumb brushing the tears from my cheeks. “Hey, what did I tell you? Yo contigo.”
“Tu conmigo,” I say, quiet but certain.
I want to believe him. And for a moment, under the hum of the neon cross and the fading echoes of our bodies, I do.